My Brother, The Hero
by FalconLux
Summary: It's hard when your brother's the Boy-Who-Lived. This is the story of the "other brother", and how he ended up wearing this nifty skull mask! - Twin!Harry Darkish!Sarcastic!Slytherin!Harry – No Child Abuse! – PreSLASH, leading toward an HP/LV pairing - WARNING: THIS STORY IS BEING REWRITTEN - SEE NOTE IN CH. 1
1. Chapter 1

**!ATTENTION! \- This story is being rewritten and expanded upon on account of my muse getting all hot and bothered about it. I do not at this time plan to change anything. Instead of most of this being told by Harry with a few scenes thrown in here and there, it will be told in a series of 1st person POV scenes. So this entire thing may now be considered a SPOILER for the rewritten edition that I will hopefully start posting soon. I considered taking this one down, but I really do like it in and of itself, so I've decided to leave it while I post the rewrite separately. If you like to be surprised, read the other version first. I will be leaving an announcement with this story when the other begins posting. **

**MORE RAMBLINGS FROM ME AT THE END IF YOU'RE INTERESTED!**

**Brief Synopsis of Backstory:** Okay, let me set the scene… The prophecy was delivered as in canon, but Lily had twin sons. On Halloween 1981, James and Lily left for a meeting with Dumbledore and left Peter to babysit. He invited Voldemort over. No one witnessed what he did in that room, but Peter went inside after the explosion to find his lord gone, wand on the floor, Ethan screaming and Harry awake and quiet. He took the wand and fled. Since it was Ethan who was scarred that night, Dumbledore decided that Voldemort had "marked him as his equal" and extrapolated the whole blocking the killing curse scenario based on magical residue. Ethan became lauded as the Boy-Who-Lived, while Harry was just the other brother that most people forgot about. Despite that and glaringly different personalities, the two boys grew up quite close. Harry was the quiet one, spending most of his time reading and watching what happened around him while Ethan bathed in the spotlight quite happily. **Harry was not abused or neglected by his parents**. I'll let Harry tell the rest…

**Warnings:** Darkish!Intelligent!Slytherin!Harry, Manipulative!Dumbledore (shocker, I know), Voldemort is going to be a little more sane and less vindictive than his canon portrayal. I don't think he's given enough credit for deviousness. Anywho, there will be **character death**! Scary, right? Don't worry, it's not Harry. And who really cares about the rest of them? Considering some of what happened in canon, I think it's reasonable for some kids to die here and there. Oh, and lots of bashing of almost everyone!

**Pairings:** None. Well, except James/Lily and Lucius/Narcissa, but we're not focusing on that.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, characters, universe, franchise, etc. I am not J. K. Rowling. I don't make any money from this. No copyright or trademark infringement intended.

* * *

**Year 1**

Hi there. My name's Harry Potter. Never heard of me? Yeah, I'm not surprised. It's hard for anyone to see me on account of the massive shadow that my brother casts over me. If you think I sound bitter… well… you're right. It wasn't always like this. No, I used to be my brother's biggest fan. It was always hard not to love Ethan Potter. He's confident and charming, smart and funny. We're both good-looking, being identical twins, but somehow no one seems to notice that part with regard to me.

Honestly, I _always_ supported Ethan. Until we started Hogwarts. That's when things started to go downhill between us. First off, he's sorted into Gryffindor, like a good little Savior. Then I'm sorted into Slytherin. Thinking back on the looks everyone gave me when I took that hat off… It's like they assumed I was going to be the next dark lord, and the poetic antihero that they could watch Ethan defeat. Even Ethan looked disturbed. Like that fucking hat measures dark potential, and only sends those to Slytherin who will become dark. I was ELEVEN! My darkest thoughts at that point were the occasional urges to pilfer Ethan's things – he always had way more than me thanks to all the gifts he got from perfect strangers, and he wouldn't miss some things anyway.

We might have eventually gotten passed my placement in Slytherin though. Honestly, we might have. But then there was the incident with the troll on Halloween. We were told to return to our dormitories while the teachers dealt with the troll. That sounded like a fine idea to me. I was on my way to do just that when I felt it. Panic. Not mine, but Ethan's. All magical twins are different in terms of their bonds. For Ethan and I, we can feel really strong emotions from each other. No, wait, I take that back. _I _can feel _his_ really strong emotions. I've never known if he couldn't do the same or if he just didn't know how to pay attention to it.

Regardless, that night, I felt panic. I didn't even think. I just ran. There was a troll in the school and Ethan was more frightened than he'd ever been. That was enough information. It wasn't hard to find him with all the screaming and roaring. When I got to the bathroom, Hermione Granger was curled into a ball in one corner screaming hysterically, Ron Weasley was lying in a pool of blood, and Ethan was struggling to cast a spell at the troll, but obviously was too scared to manage it.

Honestly, I was pretty scared too – Ethan was a second or two from death facing off against that troll. I slashed my wand at the troll, not even sure what I was trying to do except kill it. Well, it died.

In a flash of green light.

The aftermath of that night was awful. By the time Ron made it to the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey wasn't able to save him. Hermione ended up in St. Mungo's with the mind healers until after Christmas. Ethan mostly bounced back after a calming draught and a dreamless sleep. Me… Well, I was an eleven year old who – I was informed by the headmaster – had cast the killing curse with enough power and will behind it be kill a troll. My parents didn't quite disown me, but the next thing to it. I was ostracized by them and by the entire school save Slytherin house. Of course it was in the paper in less than a week, so the wizarding world followed the example of my parents in deciding I was dark. The only reason I wasn't expelled is because it _might _have been considered self-defense, and it hadn't been cast on a human being. And my brother was the Boy-Who-Lived.

I kept my head down for the rest of the year and people slowly started to ignore me again. Ethan still wasn't talking to me. I wasn't sure if he was more angry or frightened by what I'd done, regardless of the fact that it had saved his life. Personally, I thought he gave way too much attention to the opinions of our parents and the Headmaster.

Just before the end of term, I woke up in the middle of the night to that feeling of panic again. Though, I'll admit, there was a second or two of hesitation, I again rushed to my brother's aid. I used some spells that were beyond my year – being a leper gives one a lot of time for reading – and tracked Ethan into the forbidden corridor, passed a bunch of crazy traps, and into a room with a mirror, where Ethan was being held hostage by our Defense teacher… who turned out to be sporting a Voldemort growth on the back of his head. It was terrifying, and, in retrospect, kind of gross.

The Voldemort growth tried to make a deal with me. He obviously bought into the idea that I was a young dark wizard, because he seemed to honestly think I'd be okay with bartering power for my brother's life.

"Well, Potter," Voldegrowth purred, Quirrell's wand trained on Ethan's unconscious form. "I know how you are overshadowed by this boy. I know how the world shuns you to worship him. Just say the word and I will end his life. But when I call, you shall answer."

I stared at him – it – expressionlessly while I wondered if sharing a brain with Quirrell had rotted his mind or if he'd always been this stupid. Ethan and I weren't exactly close anymore, but I wouldn't have been there if I didn't love my brother. Knowing that I would not long survive refusing the "offer", I acted as quickly as I could. My wand snapped up as I said the words, and with a flash of green light, Quirrelmort collapsed gracelessly.

I blinked at the body of my Defense professor, a little stunned that that had actually worked. It was the first time I'd _intentionally _cast the Killing Curse. It seemed a _lot_ easier than everyone made it out to be. Just say the words and want someone to die, and… And, viola! One dead guy. I cautiously summoned his wand to my hand before taking a step forward.

And then hopped back again when… something… rose up out of the body. It looked kind of like smoke in water. Then a face materialized in it, and I swear the thing _smirked_ at me before flying very quickly out of the room.

I stared after it for a moment before shaking myself and hurrying to Ethan's side. He was still unconscious, but I was relieved to find that he was alive. I heaved a sigh of relief, and then a stunner slammed into my back and everything went dark.

When I woke up in the hospital wing, I discovered that Dumbledore had found me crouched over Ethan next to Quirrell's body and assumed the worst – naturally. So he'd stunned me. The ponce.

I only avoided expulsion because Ethan was able to tell everyone that Quirrell/Voldemort had abducted and probably meant to kill him. Dumbledore listened to my explanation, but didn't seem to trust me at all to actually be telling him the truth about it. He was hopelessly stuck on the fact that Quirrell had clearly been killed by the killing curse.

My exact role in that mess was kept between Dumbledore, key staff, Ethan, and my parents, so at least the entire world didn't freak out. The rumors were rampant though. Everyone seemed to know that I'd again been involved in something nefarious, and that Ethan had barely made it out alive. No one outside of Slytherin thought for a moment that maybe I had _saved _my brother instead of being the reason he nearly died.

* * *

**Year 2**

After a summer spent basically under house arrest – at least I got more reading done – I returned to Hogwarts with Ethan for our second year. Initially, I was convinced that this year could not possibly be worse than the last…

I have since learned better than to think things so foolish as that.

The problems, once again, started on Halloween. I really hate that day. First, it's also known as Ethan Potter Day, for when he "destroyed" the Dark Lord Voldemort. Clearly he'd done a bang up job of that. In my second year, Halloween is the day that the mysterious petrifications started. And the day I became suspected of being behind it – never mind the fact that if I was the "Heir of Slytherin", Ethan would have to be as well. But he's a Gryffindor and I'm a few minutes older than him. Those facts together seemed enough to allow me to be evil by birth, and my twin brother not. I learned in my first year to never try to push logic on the teeming masses. They don't need or want it.

Anyway, I foolishly skipped the feast that night, owing to the fact that I _hate _Halloween. I was heading back toward the dungeons after leaving the library when I found that stupid, evil cat. I'd just barely taken in the scene when Ethan and his little hangers on, Granger and Longbottom, showed up. Apparently, they'd missed the feast to go to a death-day party. Personally, I thought my explanation for being there was much more plausible, but I'll never win if it's my word against Ethan's, and he had two witnesses to say that I was there, alone, first.

He didn't specifically try to get me into trouble – I don't think – but he had to tell the unembellished truth, because he's an annoying Gryffindor. And they _always_ tell the truth. Unless they really, really don't want to. At least, that's my experience with the House of Hypocrites.

The way Dumbledore and all the others looked at me… He very clearly thought I'd done it, never mind that I didn't even know any spells that could petrify anyone. The really sad thing was that Ethan seemed to think I'd done it too. He was giving me a look that I was getting disturbingly accustomed to. Concern and disappointment.

I was in the Slytherin dorm during the second attack, not that anyone in the whole castle, save Snape, would actually take the word of Slytherins as an alibi. Dumbledore was watching me like he was waiting for me to start flinging Avadas in the Great Hall or something.

Then there was that wretched dueling club. Not only was it a terrible waste of time, but it cemented the belief that I was dark. Because only dark wizards are Parselmouths. The _real _bitch of it was that, when I called off the snake trying to attack Ethan, I could see in his eyes that he perfectly understood what the snake and I were saying. But he didn't actually speak to it. And he certainly didn't tell anyone that he too was a Parselmouth. That would damage his image as the Great Savior. And what was the point in defending someone who was obviously dark anyway, right?

To make matters worse, there was another attack the next night. Obscenely, I was first on the scene. Again. By that point, I'd come to terms with the fact that Fate hated me, and I brought a whole new definition to the term Black Luck.

I spent Christmas locked in my room. My parents did not seem to know what to do with me.

Things cooled off a little bit until May. That's when Hermione got petrified. If Neville hadn't grown a backbone and stepped between us, Ethan and I would have ended up dueling in the Great Hall when Ethan first found out. He actually accused me, right there in front of everyone, of petrifying his friend. That solidified it in everyone's mind. If Ethan was convinced that his own brother was responsible… Well, then it must be true.

The _only _reason that I wasn't expelled that time was that Dumbledore got ousted as headmaster, which left the decision up to the board of governors. Luckily, the board was basically controlled by Lucius Malfoy, whose son was a good friend of mine. Dumbledore actually had me, Ethan, and my parents in his office discussing my expulsion when Lucius showed up. After informing Dumbledore that he was out, Lucius informed my "family" that he'd seen no proof that I was responsible for anything, and saw no reason I should be punished. He invited them to take it up with the board. I could have kissed him.

It was three weeks later that I again ended up following my idiot brother into another life and death situation. When I heard what had happened to Ginny, I just knew Ethan was going to do something stupid. After Ron's death, Ethan had practically adopted the girl as his kid sister. I actually felt bad for her, knowing what it was like to be his sibling.

Now, knowing that Ethan had something stupid planned, I really should have made sure I had detention that night so that I had a good alibi and just sat back to see what happened. But noooo… I had to go after my stupid brother and try to talk him out of it. Obviously, that didn't work. I was still arguing with him, Neville, and Lockhart – who'd evidently been kidnapped by my idiot brother – when we found the entrance to the Chamber. I did everything short of stunning him to keep him from going down there. Instead, I ended up following him.

When Lockhart outwitted my brilliant twin and his little friend and pulled Longbottom's wand on us, I managed to get my wand on him at the same time.

"I'm sorry, boys," Lockhart said, not sounding sorry in the slightest. "Don't worry, this won't hurt a bit."

"Lockhart," I drawled, drawing his attention to the fact that there was one wand aimed at him. "Before you try anything stupid, you may want to consider the fact that I killed my last Defense teacher. With the Killing Curse."

He blinked at me stupidly, his mouth gaping fearfully.

"Harry, please…" Ethan started to plead.

"_Expelliarmus_," I said, ripping Longbottom's wand from Lockhart's hand. I quickly dodged my brother's attempt to take my wand, and followed the disarming spell with, "_Stupefy_. _Incarcerus_."

Ethan and Longbottom were gaping at me.

I rolled my eyes. "You didn't really think I was going to kill him, did you?"

"But you said…" Longbottom breathed.

"I was bluffing," I sneered at the idiot. "I killed Quirrell because he was possessed by Voldemort," the stupid boy flinched, "and he was going to kill me and Ethan. This idiot isn't worth getting expelled over."

After a beat of silence, they both gathered their wands, stepping carefully around the bound and unconscious professor.

"_Now_ can we get out of here?" I pleaded to my brother.

"Ginny's still down here," he said obstinately, starting down the tunnel once more.

I ground my teeth and very nearly sent a pair of stunners at their backs. In retrospect, I should have done that very thing. Or at least washed my hands of the whole thing and turned back myself. Unfortunately, after all that had happened in the last two years, I still loved my idiot brother. So I let him drag me along into the Chamber with him. As with the entrance to the tunnels, I refused to open it, forcing Ethan to again utilize the gift of parseltongue that he seemed to be trying so hard to deny that he had. Neville looked uncomfortable at hearing him speak the snake-tongue, but he clearly believed in his friend enough to likewise be in conscious denial, even in the face of proof.

When we found Ginny in the chamber, Ethan and his little tag-along rushed to her side while I stood back and watched for whoever or whatever had brought her down here.

I trained my wand on him as soon as he stepped out of the shadows, and I frowned when I found that he looked like maybe a sixth year, in dated Hogwarts robes.

"Look at this," the boy smirked. "Two Potters for the price of one."

"Who are you?" I demanded just a beat before Ethan said, "Tom Riddle."

I glanced briefly at my brother before focusing on the strange boy again. "Ethan. Anything you want to tell me?"

"He… I talked to him once. In a journal."

"Now would be the time to elucidate, dear brother," I said tightly.

Tom chuckled, "I'm pleased to see the brains seem to have gone to the Slytherin side of the family."

"So happy to amuse you," I drawled. "Since my brother doesn't seem to have much to say, would you care to explain who the fuck you are?"

He smirked unpleasantly at me and used his wand to scratch out his name in fiery letters in the air. Tom Marvolo Riddle. A rather unfortunate middle name, but I wasn't one to talk. Mine was after my idiot father. He then swished his wand and the letters rearranged themselves to spell, I Am Lord Voldemort.

"Clever," I allowed, reassessing the older boy. "So you're some sort of archived memory of Voldemort's teenage self?" I reasoned, then corrected myself, "No. You're too vital to be just a memory."

"Very good," the boy grinned, evidently quite pleased with my reasoning skills. Like I cared whether he approved of anything about me. "Have you ever heard of a horcrux?"

I frowned, then shook my head.

"I'm not surprised. I am, in fact, a portion of Voldemort's soul, split off when he was sixteen and stored in that diary."

That made sense. The only way I could imagine to split a soul was some kind of dark ritual involving murder. It was rather impressive for a sixteen year old. It didn't explain why he seemed interested in us though. "So what's your issue with the Potters?" I wondered.

That brought an ugly sneer to the pretty boy's face. "Sweet young Ginny told me all about how Ethan 'destroyed' my elder self."

"Well, Ginny's an idiot," I said with complete, fervent honesty. "Shut up, Ethan," I added when my dear brother opened his mouth to refute that. "She's an ignorant first year with a serious case of hero worship for you. First, no one knows what actually happened that night. Second, Voldemort Sr. is most certainly not 'destroyed'."

Tom looked interested at that.

"Oh, it's true," I promised. "I met him last year."

"Harry, stop telling him everything!" Ethan snapped.

I rolled my eyes, "What? So it's okay for the future Mrs. Potter to tell him her idea of your life story, but I can't give him a few facts?" I turned my full attention back to Tom. "Now, my question is, what are you doing here?"

Tom glanced at Ginny's motionless body, "Young Ginny poured her heart out to me in that journal. She fed me of her own life force with her pathetic stories about Ethan. Her magic is nearly drained now. As she dies, this body will become mine. And then you three will die."

Wow. Someone needed to give Tom some lessons about monologuing. Telling your enemies all of your plans was never a good idea… Especially when those plans included killing said enemies. Didn't really leave us with anything to lose. "Well, in that case," I said lazily. My wand snapped up and I snarled, "_Avada Kedavra_!"

The green light flashed brilliantly. And went right through Tom without harming him. Evidently, he wasn't yet quite alive enough for that to work. "Damn," I frowned.

Tom blinked at me in total shock.

Longbottom looked like he was going to faint just from seeing that curse cast – even ineffectually.

"Harry!" Ethan snapped. "What's wrong with you? Didn't you learn anything last year?! You can't just go around casting the Killing Curse!"

I sent a brief glare at my brother, irritated and incredulous that he'd lecture me about that _right now_. "He just said that he plans to kill all of us, Ethan," I bit out. "If a situation ever called for a Killing Curse, this is it."

"_No_ situation ever calls for the Killing Curse!" Ethan protested. "Don't lower yourself to their level!"

"Would you rather we all die?" I snapped. "You'd have died twice last year if I hadn't used that curse!"

Tom looked extremely interested in this conversation, and interrupted now before Ethan could retort. "You cast the Killing Curse as a first year? Successfully?"

"Twice," I confirmed. "I didn't fully know what I was doing the first time though. I'm pretty sure I learned it from your elder counterpart and used the memory unconsciously the first time. The second time, I meant to use it."

"Harry!"

"What?" I snapped at Ethan. "Do you think he's going to report me to the aurors? Besides, Dumbledore already knows, as I told him that."

Tom stared at me a moment more, then shook his head slightly and I watched him closely as he moved to stand before the statue of Salazar Slytherin. "_Speak to me, Salazar, Greatest of the Hogwarts Four!_" he hissed pompously.

The mouth slid open and I heard what could only be scales sliding over stone.

"Oh, crap," I groaned, certain that we were about the meet the basilisk. I grabbed Ethan's shoulder and yanked him behind one of the columns. He shouted for Longbottom right about the time I heard what could only be a body hitting the stone. I glanced over to see Longbottom very obviously _not _petrified. And not breathing. Shit. Somehow, I was going to get blamed for that.

"_Visus Obscurus Totalis_," I muttered, turning my wand on Ethan, conjuring an impenetrable black shroud over his eyes. I just knew he'd be unable to prevent himself from looking the thing in the eyes if he was physically able to do so.

Ethan shrieked as he was blinded, then sunk down into a ball on the floor next to the pillar.

I shook my head minimally as I watched the "hero" at work and racked my brain to figure out how the hell I was going to kill that basilisk without getting killed myself.

Then I heard an avian screech and risked a peek out to see the headmaster's phoenix attacking the basilisk's eyes. I smiled a little at the unusually helpful flaming chicken and waited until both eyes had been blinded, then chanced a glance at the beast's face. When I didn't die, I figured it had worked. A small part of me felt thrilled at having been, I was sure, one of the first people ever to know what a basilisk's face looked like and actually survive it.

Pushing my academic excitement to the back of my mind, I relieved Ethan of his blinder and took a cautious step out. Tom was yelling at the thing to sniff us out.

Ethan, trembling head to toe, followed me. He took one look at the beast and froze, his wand falling from limp fingers.

I cursed under my breath and quickly moved away from him, hoping to draw the creature away from my helpless brother, and still struggling to figure out how to kill it. I launched another Avada, but it just bounced off its hide. Damn. I was getting really sick of things not dying when they were supposed to.

And then it evidently sorted out Ethan's scent and reared up, opening its maw to strike.

Drawing on my magic more deeply than I ever had, I launched one more Killing Curse, this one right down its throat. Happily, that one did the trick. The basilisk crumpled. I watched it warily while Ethan… Ew… It looked like he'd wet himself. Merlin, it would be funny if it wasn't so sad. And if he hadn't looked so very much like me. I was a little embarrassed, honestly.

And then Tom was facing me again. He did not look happy, but he was studying me speculatively. "I didn't think it was possible to kill a basilisk with a killing curse," he noted judiciously. "That was impressive, Harry."

"Why thank you, Tom," I drawled. "So glad that you approve."

He smirked at that. "You should join me, Harry. The two of us could go far together."

I avoided rolling my eyes with an effort. Just like his elder counterpart, he was trying to recruit me. To this day, I do not understand why everyone assumes that the willingness to cast the Killing Curse automatically makes one evil. I had killed a troll, a possessed man, and a basilisk in my life, and every single time I'd been defending Ethan and myself. _Clearly, _I was evil…

"Harry, don't," Ethan said uneasily. He evidently thought I might just take Tom up on that offer.

"Why shouldn't I?" I asked Ethan to buy some time while I tried to figure out how to defeat Tom since the Killing Curse didn't work. Theoretically, I could just wait until he was fully alive, and then use the Killing Curse, but he would probably be stronger then, and I might end up having to actually duel him. In which case, I couldn't count on Ethan to not freeze up, and Tom might very well best me. No, my best shot was to take him out now. But how?

"Harry…" Ethan breathed, obviously completely buying it. "I… I'm your brother…"

"You're the Boy-Who-Lived, Ethan," I said coldly. "When was the last time you did anything for me? I saved you from the troll. I saved you from Quirrell and Voldemort. How do you repay me? By believing that I was petrifying students. By accusing me of it in front of the entire school? By leading us into this death trap? By scolding me for using a spell that has saved our lives _again_?"

To his credit, Ethan actually looked a little chastened. "But Harry…" he said weakly. "It's an Unforgiveable. They're called that for a reason."

"Really?" I sneered derisively. "Unforgiveable? Why? Because it kills? So if I used a much less effective, but equally lethal cutting curse, _that _would be okay? I was defending us, Ethan! The troll was about to crush you! Voldemort and Quirrell about to use the Killing Curse on _you_! That basilisk was going to eat you! I will not stand back and die when I could use one simple spell to save us both!"

The diary, I realized. Tom had admitted that his soul had been stored in it, and he hadn't yet gotten his own body. Since whatever sort of body he had at the moment clearly could not be killed with the Killing Curse, his soul must still reside in that diary. Which meant…

"Harry, please," Ethan begged, tears beginning to fall down his face. "Please don't do this. I… I know I haven't been a very good brother, but… I do love you, Harry."

"I'm glad to hear that, Ethan," I said quietly, and I was. Lately, I'd been wondering if he even remembered that. "I hope you can remember it." With that, I turned my wand quickly on the journal and snarled, "_Avada Kedavra_!"

Again. Nothing. Bollocks!

Tom looked shocked for just a moment before barking a laugh. "That spell only works on the living, Harry."

"I've noticed," I frowned. "I suppose I'll have to expand my spell repertoire."

Tom kept laughing.

I was starting to get brassed off now. I _really _wanted to kill this fucker. I glared at the journal, and it occurred to me that paper was particularly vulnerable to fire…

"_Incendio_!" I barked.

The flames sprang up atop the journal, but it became very quickly apparent that it wasn't being harmed, so it must have been protected against such a simple spell.

Tom was laughing harder. He seemed to be having a joyous time watching me try and fail to destroy him.

I glared harder at the journal, willing the flames to burn hotter. To kill that fucking thing.

And then the fire started to shift in a rather unflamelike manner, and I started slightly as I realized that there was a snake made entirely of flame now coiling about atop of the book. My breath suddenly felt short as I became aware of a powerful draw on my magic from that flame-snake. It was trying to break my control of it, I realized, and it was fighting hard. I knew, instinctively, that it would be a very bad thing if I let that get away from me. So I redoubled my focus, distantly aware of the fact that Tom had stopped laughing and was now screaming.

With a grim smile, I exerted my will and watched as the snake reared up and struck at the journal with blistering heat. The thing _finally _caught on fire. A pervasive liquid darkness began to bleed out of the journal, seeming to turn to smoke when the fire hit it. I let the snake grow a bit bigger and attack the darkness until it and Tom had vanished.

Taking a deep breath, I forced my will against that fiery snake and forced it to die down until it was no more than a candle flame burning atop the charred book. I approached it cautiously as the drain on my magic lessened, and warily blew on it. It went out just like a regular flame.

I sagged a little in relief, and watched Ginny begin to stir. Then I heard Ethan cry out and glanced back to see that he'd gone to Longbottom and finally realized that he was dead rather than just unconscious.

I sighed and leaned against the wall. I noticed then that Fawkes was perched on one of the columns, watching us still. "You think you might fetch the headmaster, Fawkes?" I inquired.

The bird blinked at me, then vanished in a gout of flame.

Moments later, the bird returned with Dumbledore, his wand out and ready to use.

"Don't stun me!" I said quickly. "I didn't do it."

He frowned heavily at me, then hurried over to check on Ethan and Longbottom.

What followed was a _really _long night. Ginny went to the hospital wing. Longbottom was taken away, the end of another ancient line. Merlin, Voldemort was going to kill us all off if he kept killing all the muggleborns and halfbloods as well as the "blood traitors". What would that really leave? A dozen or so pureblood families that were already dangerously interbred? If he actually succeeded, I figured magical Britain had about four or five more generations before we died off due to inbreeding. Some fucking legacy. The man was clearly insane.

Ethan – wonderful brother he is – told the truth when we were interrogated. Ethan got the credit for saving Ginny, as I wouldn't have been down there if not for him. Rather than crediting me with killing the basilisk, I got credit for using the Killing Curse again, and trying to use it on Riddle, twice. Dumbledore and my parents seemed convinced that I was "addicted" to the curse. Which was ridiculous. The only urge I felt to use the curse was that it generally worked to kill things that were trying to kill me. Personally, I was convinced that that whole "addiction to dark magic" schtick so many people liked to use was completely bogus. If dark magic was addictive, it was only because, after using it, you tended to realize how _useful _it was, which would make any sane person inclined to use it again.

Then there was the Fiendfyre thing… That was, evidently, very dark magic as well. And Dumbledore, whilst lecturing me, pointed out that the venom from the basilisk would have been sufficient to kill the journal. I snapped a little bit then, accusing him of making twelve-year-olds clean up the messes in his school and then protesting the methods instead of congratulating us on surviving it. It was all the brutal truth, but no one in the room save Snape seemed to appreciate it. They sent me to the hospital wing for a calming draught.

I went to the library instead, snuck into the restricted section, as it was after hours, and pilfered a book about Fiendfyre. Then I closed myself behind the curtains on my bed and spent most of the night reading about the "evil" fire that had killed the more evil diary. The fire certainly hadn't seemed evil to me while I was controlling it. It was definitely powerful and I'd sensed how dangerous it would be had it gotten away from me, but nothing about it had felt "evil". To me, it had felt simply feral – dangerous, but no more evil than a thunderstorm.

Again, most people never really knew what happened that night. Rumor, however, said that Ethan had saved Ginny, and I'd killed Neville with the Killing Curse. Allegedly, I wasn't in Azkaban only because I'd done it wandlessly and thus they couldn't prove it. If not for my friends in Slytherin who believed in my version of events, I may very well have gone homicidal on those idiots.

It didn't matter what I did. I was always going to be the bad guy. That's the lesson I learned from that.

* * *

**Year 3**

Third year actually wasn't too bad. After another summer spent mostly locked into my room between meals, chores, and church – the latter of which my parents seemed to think might save my soul or something – going back to Hogwarts was actually something of a relief. At least there I had a few people who didn't think I was evil – or were okay with it if they did suspect that. Personally, I was seriously wondering why I bothered trying to keep my prat brother alive. Honestly, he'd have been dead at least three times if not for my intervention, and I somehow ended up looking worse every time. Despite our oh-so-touching conversation when he'd thought I was going to turn against him and join Tom, he went right back to being the "charming" Ethan Potter by the time the term ended.

The worst thing about third year was the DADA professor. Dumbledore had hired my dad's old friend – my godfather – and he too believed I was a miniature dark lord. Between some of the things he taught and the way he looked at me in class, he may as well have renamed the class, Defense Against Harry Potter and Other Dark Lords – probably would have if the acronym wouldn't have been so cumbersome. Personally, I found it all very hypocritical coming from a dark creature.

One good thing about that year was that I made the house Quidditch team. Between being a Parselmouth and Ethan's "arch nemesis", I was something of a hero in Slytherin. The fact that I could outfly Ethan as Seeker was sweet justice – even if three quarters of the school was convinced after the Gryffindor/Slytherin match that I'd used some kind of dark magic to befuddle Ethan in order to manage it. After first and second year, I was immune to such an accusation.

The best thing about that year though, was that I found Slytherin's library in a room off the Chamber. I spent every spare minute for the rest of the year closeted away in there reading all sorts of things, most of which would probably give Dumbledore and my parents a collective aneurism. Most useful though, was the Parselmagic. For the first time, being a Parselmouth was actually good for more than chatting up the rare snake, and making me look bad.

* * *

**Year 4**

I spent the summer before fourth year basically as I had the previous summer. Maybe the fact that I'd gone a whole year without casting the killing curse convinced my parents that the muggle religion thing was working, because I found myself spending more and more time in the church. I was made an altar boy. I helped set up and clean up church functions and summer religious courses for the muggle kids. Personally, I found it a huge waste of time. The only good thing about it was that neither the priest nor the muggles thought I was evil, which was a refreshing change from what I was used to.

I did manage to get all my summer homework done, and read all my textbooks for the coming year. I even got in a little pleasure reading, though my parents would only buy me books on the lightest of subjects. Which meant I was learning household charms and healing magic only. Not that I minded too much. The healing magic was something I figured I may well use in the future, and I had all year at Hogwarts to read more _interesting_ topics in Slytherin's library. I had no unhealthy lust of dark arts or anything like that. I just understood – since the troll – that dark arts were damn useful. And most of the wizarding world was comprised of idiots too afraid to use them. I sure as hell wasn't going to let myself get killed because I didn't know how to fight back when something wanted me dead.

Despite the rumors, I had not been expecting the Tri-Wizard tournament to be announced when I got to school. Of course, by the smug look on Ethan's face, mum and dad had told him about it. All I could think was in what way this tournament might lead to someone or something trying to kill me again.

I did like the Defense teacher that year though. Moody was a practical sort when it came to Defense, and he seemed to like me in return. When he demonstrated the Unforgiveables on the first day of class, he actually congratulated me on successfully casting the Killing Curse even while he informed the rest of the class that they'd be lucky to give him so much as a nosebleed if they tried the spell. That just seemed to make everyone even more afraid of me, but I didn't mind. Then, when it came time to demonstrate the curses, he asked me to see if I could do them all. I was leery of getting in trouble, but he promised that that wouldn't happen as I was following a teacher's orders and only using them on spiders. So I went to the front of the room, and cast the Unforgiveables right in front of my classmates.

The Imperius was really easy, and I soon had the spider dancing across the desktop. The Cruciatus took me two tries to get right, but once I figured out the right mental discipline, it wasn't hard. The whole class practically held their breath when it came time for me to cast the last curse. This one, I knew well. I smirked a little at the professor and made my tone as lazy as possible as I casually killed the poor little spider.

Moody thought it was great, complimented me, then snarled at everyone else for not having the stomach to even watch those spells without getting queasy. By the end of that class, I knew I was going to enjoy Defense this year. The rest of the school, my darling brother included, seemed terrified of me after that. Except the Slytherins of course, who were practically bowing a scraping around me. Gotta love a healthy respect for the Dark Arts.

And then it was my _favorite _day of the fucking year. I really should have known something terrible was going to happen that day, despite my lucky break on getting through it the last year. When my name came out as the fourth champion, I cursed vociferously – and loudly enough for the entire hall to hear, as they'd all gone silent at the announcement of my name. So, while my house chuckled and cheered me, the rest of the hall stared at me in fear, and I joined the other champions.

Of course everyone thought that I'd entered the tournament intentionally. Most of the school figured I'd used dark arts to fool the age line. My house, when I announced in the common room that I hadn't entered myself, did not question me about it again. Whatever they really believed, they backed me entirely. Some of them respected me for what I'd done or for my reputation. Most of them, I knew, were afraid of getting on my shit list. It was a fact, after all, that I could and had cast the killing curse more than once.

Figuring out what the first task consisted of was actually pretty easy. Considering that I was a Slytherin, and most of my housemates had influential relatives connected to the Ministry, it was just two days after the champions were selected that Draco told me it was going to be dragons. Two days later, Blaise and one of the seventh year Slytherins told me the same thing.

So, I started studying. Draco, through his father, got me a copy of the Tri-Wizard rules, and I found that there was no restriction against using dark arts in the tournament. Some spells were still illegal, as we were in Britain and had to follow British law, but Parselmagic, for example, was not in any way prohibited despite a general consensus in Britain that it was "dark". I thought that was silly, as there were both light and dark spells in parselmagic. Honestly, I couldn't imagine how a cleaning spell could be a dark spell just because it was spoken in a rare tongue. Completely barmy.

Slytherin's library was invaluable in my preparation, and by the time the task came around, I actually did feel ready for it. The Hungarian Horntail was freaky huge, but as I made my slow trek out into the enclosure, hissing parselmagic protections under my breath the whole way, I wasn't unduly frightened. It probably helped that I'd fought for my life several times before.

Or maybe there was just something not quite right about me. Everyone else seemed to believe that. Maybe it was true.

When the first blast of dragon fire hit me, I'll admit, I was a bit nervous, but the protection worked perfectly and it felt like no more than a warm breeze. The fact that at least half the spectators seemed to shit themselves thinking I'd been killed was pretty funny too. I then used a spell that was similar to apparation, but only worked by line of sight. It had a maximum range of about three kilometers, but considerably less in rough terrain, since I had to be able to see my landing zone. It worked great against the dragon though. She didn't know what to do with a threat that kept vanishing and reappearing on the other side of her. It didn't take me long to lure her away from her nest far enough that I could pop over to it, grab the egg, and pop to safety while she returned to her eggs, highly irritated, but not interested in chasing me away from her nest again.

After the task, the judges had to discuss the spells with me. Part of the grade was on the spells used, and they had no idea what I'd done. So I got the _fun _experience of explaining to them about what the magic was and a basic idea of the spells and what they did. The Durmstrang Head gave me a perfect score. He seemed really impressed by the Parselmagic. Maxime gave me 8. Bagman gave me 10 – I was pretty sure he had money on me to win. And Dumbledore gave me a 3. Like, on principle. The sod. That left me with 31 of a possible 40, and third place after Viktor and Cedric. That just went to show that the tournament needed a more impartial judging system or we ended up playing politics as much as actually trying to complete the tasks.

The second task was as easy to figure out as the first. A second year was the first to explain how to open the egg, the very day after the first task. Several more Slytherins reported the same thing to me in the next two days, which I appreciated.

I used Parselmagic again for the second task. Because fuck them. I'd practiced the spell until it was second nature, and easily transfigured myself into a sea serpent. An eighteen foot sea serpent. Unlike ordinary transfigurations, with which one could not do total animal transfigurations without getting stuck that way with no way to change you back, Parselmagic was fairly easy to perform wandlessly and, as long as I was a serpent of some kind, I could still speak to transform back. In that form, it was very easy to swim down to the hostages. I could move with amazing speed and even the grindylows were too scared to go near me.

As a sea serpent, I could speak parseltongue under water, which I did to sever the ties holding Draco down there. I made it back to the surface in just over thirty minutes – which put me thirty minutes ahead of Krum and Cedric. Fleur had made it up just before me, but only because she'd been rescued after succumbing to grindylows of all things. Honestly, if she was the best Beauxbatons had to offer, I wasn't impressed.

My score for the second task was a perfect 10 from Bagman, my personal cheerleader, evidently. A grudging 10 from Maxime. A 9 and a sneer from Karkaroff. And a 6 from Dumbledore, who was really starting to brass me off, though I'd always known he was a prejudiced tosser. Still, 35 of 40 gave me first place for the second task. Coming out so far ahead of time was more advantage than the arseholes could compensate for with their unfair scoring. Considering my performance, I _knew _that I deserved a perfect score, but again… fuck them.

The school was more against me than ever. Well, maybe not as badly as second year when they'd thought I was targeting fellow students to petrify for whatever sick pleasure they imagined I was getting from it. Still, it was bad. They didn't quite stoop to hexing me in the halls, but I suspected that was only because they figured I'd use an Unforgiveable on them if they tried.

I was in second place going into the final task. Mindful of the no-illegal-magic rule, I restrained myself from using any Killing Curses on the shit that was trying to kill me. Instead, I pulled out some dark parselmagic, which worked wonders against the magically resistant creatures, just as regular dark magic would have. And, since Parselmouths were so very rare, no one had ever thought to make any particular parselmagic spells illegal. It was a loophole I was enjoying, though I did wonder if they wouldn't just outlaw all parselmagic now that they had someone like me using it.

I found Krum crucioing Fleur, which meant that he was disqualified and she was almost certainly going to stay down. With a little internal cheer, I stunned and bound Krum, sent up sparks for the two of them, and continued with only one more challenger. I decapitated the Skwert with a parselmagic curse, solved the sphinx's riddle, hit the acromantula with a parselmagic blasting curse that just about liquefied the larger portion of it, and reached the cup without any sign of Cedric.

With a small smirk, I grabbed the cup…

And got one hell of a surprise. The next thing I knew, I was in some dark graveyard Merlin knew where. I took a second to conclude that this definitely wasn't part of the task, and was just about to try grabbing the cup again when I realized I was no longer alone. The man managed to hit me with an expelliarmus in the split second I hesitated trying to identify him – a mistake I will _never _make again – and tied me to one of the headstones.

Then I recognized the son of a bitch. "Hello, Uncle Peter," I sneered distastefully.

The rat seemed unnerved by what I'd said or how I'd said it – likely both – but he kept working, setting up some kind of ritual involving a cauldron large enough to hold a full grown man. Which, I quickly learned, was exactly the point.

I waited until he dropped the gross-mutant-baby-thing into the cauldron and was completely distracted by it and his missing hand, then used a parselmagic spell to free myself from my bindings. Voldefreak was just rising from the cauldron when I hissed the command word for a parselmagic spell similar to an accio. I called my wand from Peter's robes, almost simultaneously summoning the cup to my other hand. I just had time to see Voldemort snarl furiously at me, and then I was gone.

Lo and behold, I arrived back at Hogwarts to again get blamed for things. The first thing they did was check my wand to see if I had Imperio'd Krum. Evidently, whenever an Unforgiveable was cast, I was suspect number one. They were unable to confirm that – which would not stop the rumors, I knew – and they listened to my story about Voldesnake getting resurrected with insultingly obvious doubt. As usual, the only one who believed me was Snape. The way he was looking at Dumbledore though, seemed to be having an impact for once. I gathered that his Dark Mark was telling him the same thing I was saying. Fudge, the fucking idiot, believed nothing.

Then, to make my night perfect, after going to sleep in the hospital wing, where they were forcing me to stay the night for "observation", I woke up to the sickening sensation of traveling by portkey. And I landed with Moody, right at Voldemort's feet, though he'd moved out of the graveyard into an old, dirty, once-fancy ballroom.

I looked up into narrowed red eyes, noted that my wand was gone, and sighed heavily. "Fuck."

Voldie chuckled at that.

"Well, it's official," I grumbled. "Hogwarts is the _least _safe place in the fucking country."

That earned me another chuckle from snake-face and Moody both.

"_Why _do you want to kill me so badly?" I whinged a bit. "I've done nothing to you except try to keep you from killing me. Okay, so I defended Ethan too, but the point is that you always attack us first. Why? We're just kids."

"Then Dumbledore hasn't told you about the prophecy," Voldie concluded.

I stared at him a moment, then clenched my jaw. "No. Not me, anyway. Why would he tell me anything? I'm just the idiot who keeps saving his fucking Golden Boy. Why would _I _need to know anything?" I felt the sarcasm was warranted. "Then again, considering that I'm a 'dark lord in training', I suppose it makes sense. He probably figures I'd run straight to you and your little toys," I gestured toward Moody.

"You don't seem nearly terrified enough," Voldie noted with displeasure.

"Oh no," I hastened to say when he started to lift his wand, "I assure you, I am properly terrified at what I assume is my imminent death. I just don't see the point in shitting myself. It would smell bad, and accomplish nothing. I'm getting entirely too used to imminent death situations, I think. And bad humor is a coping mechanism. I promise, I'm _very_ scared." And that was the truth.

The dark lord laughed again, "You are an amusing one, I admit." He looked up then, passed me. "Ah, Severus. So glad you could join us."

I turned around to see my head of house striding into the room. "Fuck," I sighed. "Hello, Professor Snape. I was really hoping you were on Dumbledore's side. Guess not, huh?"

He shook his head gravely.

I nodded, "Yeah. Because _that's_ my luck." I looked at Voldemort again. "So, ah, Lord Voldemort, sir," I ventured, hoping if I was some kind of respectful, he might kill me quickly. I'd heard he was also partial to the Killing Curse, and I knew how quickly that worked. "You mentioned a prophecy. Is there any chance at all you'd consent to tell me _why _you're going to kill me before you do? Otherwise, I'm fairly convinced I'll end up a ghost just to try to figure it out, and I do not want to float around all silvery and cold for the next millennium."

Voldemort smiled at me, which let me tell you in case you've never seen it, it's not a warm or comforting thing at all. "'The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him. Born as the seventh month dies'. That isn't the whole prophecy, but it is all I have heard."

"The power to vanquish…" I parroted incredulously. "_Ethan_?" It had to be. Why else would Dumbledore be so fucking obsessed with him? "No," I said definitely. "I'm quite sure that he used up all his extra special magic to block that killing curse when we were babies. He's an average wizard at best. And for all he was sorted into Gryffindor, he's a bloody coward. I mean, I'm sure you heard what happened with that troll. And then… you met him. I bet he froze, didn't he? As soon as Quirrell threatened him? He _always_ freezes. And in second year, against the basilisk, it was the same thing. Froze right up and waited to get eaten-"

"Wait," Voldemort interjected sharply.

I forcibly snapped my jaws shut. I had a bad habit of talking too much when I was nervous. Another coping mechanism, I suspected.

"What basilisk?" he asked in a deadly soft tone.

I gulped. "Guess you didn't hear about that one, huh? The basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets?"

His eyes narrowed.

I tried to work some moisture into my mouth.

"What happened to the basilisk?"

"I killed it," I admitted nervously, wondering if I was about to experience a Cruciatus.

"How?"

"Sent an Avada down its throat when it opened its mouth to eat Ethan."

"A Killing Curse. Against a thousand year old basilisk."

I nodded warily.

He studied me for a long moment, and then…

My mind exploded in agony as he slithered into it, and I watched him examine my memories of the chamber. When it finally ended, it took all my willpower to avoid collapsing.

Voldemort looked intrigued. "I haven't decided if I'm going to kill you yet," he said finally. "Severus has told me good things about you, and you've impressed me by surviving me twice. I need to hear the rest of that prophecy, but I cannot go into the Ministry to retrieve it. Would you do that for me, Harry?"

I frowned thoughtfully. I really did want to hear the rest of that prophecy myself, but… A rather large "but". I would be helping Voldemort by showing it to him. Obviously, if Dumbledore didn't think that he would have let him know it before now. Then again, this was Dumbledore. He was an idiot. And Snape was on Voldemort's side. And Snape was the only adult that I respected. But Peter was on this side too, and it was his fault that Ethan was the Boy-Who-Lived and all that went with that. But Peter was a sniveling coward. I very much doubted that Voldemort valued him for anything more than a pawn willing to chop off his own hand on command. But based on what that prophecy said, I was most likely signing either Ethan's death warrant or mine. It was about one of us, after all. But maybe there was something in the rest of the prophecy that could save us both. I mean, really, Voldemort couldn't want to kill us any more than he already did. If the rest of the prophecy did nothing but confirm that, then Dumbledore shouldn't have worried about letting Voldemort learn it. If there was something else that might make him want to keep us around…

Fuck. My head hurt. And I was really doing a lot of thinking for nothing. So he couldn't Imperius me, as I'd proven highly resistant to that spell in Defense class. That didn't mean that this was a real choice. If I said no, I'd probably just end up getting killed and he'd go after Ethan to get it or he'd bite the bullet and go himself. Or he'd hold Draco hostage against my cooperation or something like that. I really was overthinking this.

"Yeah, sure," I nodded as though I hadn't just had a furious, pointless mental debate. "But, I want a binding oath that you'll let me hear it." I said that as though I assumed I had any real leverage. Truthfully, I figured he wouldn't have much reason to keep it from me. If it said something that made me a target, he'd kill me right after. If it said something he didn't like but he decided to let me live, he'd just Obliviate me. Still, the brief illusion of power was kind of nice.

Voldemort smiled, and I was sure he'd had the same thoughts I'd just had. He lifted his wand and vowed on his magic that he would let me hear the prophecy after I'd returned it to him.

I frowned, "Immediately after?" Since otherwise, it could be like fifty years after.

He actually laughed at that, and he really sounded amused – if still fucking terrifying. He amended his vow to within an hour of my successful return assuming that nothing went wrong.

I nodded, having gotten more out of the deal than I'd dared to hope. At least this way I could die without that question gnawing at my soul. "Great!" I grinned. "So how do I get to it to retrieve it?"

"You will accompany me, Mr. Potter."

I turned to see the speaker and flashed him a grin. "Hello, Lord Malfoy. Delighted to see you again."

"Mr. Potter," he nodded cordially. "I trust Draco was well last time you saw him?" Just like we'd passed each other in Diagon Alley.

"Yes, sir," I nodded. "A bit put out that I was excused from exams and he was not, but I suppose he'd rather take the tests than be in this situation."

"Indeed," Malfoy nodded. "Shall we go?"

"Yes," I finally got all the way to my feet. "Um, do you have something for me to wear or should I go in the hospital grown? I just think it might draw some stares if anyone sees us…"

He waved his wand and transfigured my gown into respectable robes.

"Ah, thank you."

"Is the other one this entertaining?" Voldemort asked Snape conversationally.

"No, my Lord," he replied solemnly. "Ethan Potter meets confrontation with confrontation rather than wit."

"Unless it's dangerous," I added. "Then he imitates an ice sculpture."

Snape smirked. Voldemort and the other two Death Eaters chuckled. Who would have thought that the dark lord would appreciate my sense of humor?

Lucius took me to the Ministry, which was nearly empty in the middle of the night. It was amazing that we were able to go right into the Department of Mysteries with barely a question aimed at us. I could completely see why Voldemort valued Lucius as a servant.

In the Hall of Prophecies, I picked up the orb and Lucius almost immediately snatched it from my hand and put it in his own pocket. I didn't mind. I was going to hear it soon enough.

It occurred to me on the way out that now would be the time to try to escape. I didn't have my wand, but I could still use parselmagic. But then I'd never get to hear that prophecy… When we reached the atrium, I very nearly did it. I was pretty sure I could incapacitate Lucius, snatch the prophecy, and get through the floo before anyone could stop me. Of course, there was one glaring problem with that plan. _I _would be the one that would get in trouble for that. Lucius would press charges for assault and probably theft, though he'd definitely lie about what I'd taken. And with my record, I'd probably do a decade in Azkaban, if they didn't manage to stick me with any other crimes while they were at it.

Fuck, the injustice really got to me sometimes.

So, like a good little boy with a death wish, I returned to Voldemort with Lucius. The Dark Lord asked if there had been any problems, and actually seemed a little surprised that I hadn't done anything stupid. After staring at me for a moment, he asked why I hadn't tried to escape, and I explained my reasoning to him, which made him laugh. Yep, that's me, Dark Court Jester. I'll be here all week, folks.

And then finally – _finally _– the others were ushered to the side of the room and Voldemort erected a silencing ward around us. Then held up the orb.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. The dark lord shall mark him as his equal, but he shall have power the dark lord knows not. And either may die at the hand of the other but neither can die while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord shall be born as the seventh month dies…"_

When it ceased, Voldemort and I both stared at it in shock.

"Neither can die while the other survives," Voldemort mused. "I see why Dumbledore didn't want me to hear this."

"No," I protested, "It can't possibly be Ethan that has the power to 'vanquish' you. And what would be the power that you don't know about? The power to freeze in life and death situations? The power to get in over his head and make his brother save him repeatedly? I mean, we're both Parselmouths, but he knows _no _parselmagic. I'm pretty sure he's in denial about being able to speak the language at all. Maybe it's the power to be the only coward in Gryffindor? No wait, you know about that. Maybe it's the power to be exceedingly average. You'd never see it coming."

I finally focused on Voldemort again and found him watching me with amusement. "Um… Do you have any guesses?" I ventured cautiously.

He smirked, "About this supposed 'power'? No. I was more focused on a different line. The one that says I must mark this one as my equal."

"That's the problem," I frowned. "Ethan has the famous scar. There's no getting around that."

"Assuming that my inflicting that wound was in fact marking him as my equal… I've scarred many people over the years. Not one of them was 'marked as my equal'."

That was an interesting point.

"It seems to me," he went on, "that doing that would be intentional on my part. I would have to mean for the mark to indicate my equal, which, clearly, I did not."

"You're suggesting that you could _choose _me?" I asked cautiously.

He nodded.

"Why would you want to do that?" I wondered. "Ethan would be a much better nemesis. I mean, he's practically handicapped."

Voldemort smirked again. "You're assuming that I believe this 'chosen one' to be my enemy. Neither of us can die while the other survives. It sounds more like an ally."

I blinked a few times. It was finally occurring to me that I might survive the night. "So you're offering me the chance to be marked as your equal if I agree to ally myself with you," I said, just to make sure I wasn't making things up to make myself feel better.

"It seems to me that it would be mutually beneficial."

I nodded. It certainly would be for me, seeing as it would let me survive. And, if I really was the chosen one, then I might not be able to die at all afterward. Assuming, of course, that it worked that way. Of course, I might end up that wraith thing like Voldie had been these last thirteen years. That didn't sound fun at all, but at least I wouldn't be dead. And it was clearly possible to get another body. I think I'd try to get a prettier one though. Voldemort looked pretty freaky.

"Hm," I hummed finally. "Okay. This is another one of those choices that _sounds _optional, but really isn't unless I'm suicidal. So… Well, it's rather hard to turn down."

"Then give me your arm."

I grimaced, "Everyone already thinks I'm the next dark lord. If I show up with a Dark Mark, I'm going to Azkaban."

"A Dark Mark would not be the mark of an equal," Voldemort pointed out. "It's the mark of my servants."

"Oh," I nodded. That did make sense. I was good at acting and rambling humorously under pressure. My critical thinking centers though, seemed to take a bit of a hit. "Yeah. Good point. So, is there any chance it might be somewhere less obvious?"

He chuckled at me, "I think I'll enjoy having you around, Harry. Most of my Death Eaters have no sense of humor. Now give me your left arm."

I nodded, taking that comment as a "shut up and do as you're told", and offered the "requested" limb.

Instead of pressing his wand into my wrist though, he clasped his hand around my forearm in such a way that I automatically returned the gesture. Almost like a handshake, but with the wrong hands. Then he pressed his wand to the crease between our wrists and started whispering in parseltongue.

I didn't catch it all because his voice was so low, but it was basically something about marking us as equals. He wasn't taking any chances. He was literally marking me as his equal. I wondered what kind of political dynamic that was going to leave between us or if it was all just for show and I'd be like slightly above or to the side of the regular Death Eaters, but still just his little minion. It was something to explore later. At the moment, I was too distracted by the iridescent black snake crawling up out of his skin to wrap itself around our wrists. It coiled itself several times around our joined wrists in a convoluted sort of knot. At some point, the snake became two snakes, though I didn't quite catch how that happened, and then the snakes sank right into our flesh and stopped moving.

He released me and I did the same, withdrawing my arm to examine the absolutely gorgeous tattoo now residing there. It looked almost alive for how detailed and realistic it was. I touched it and I actually could feel the cool scales.

"Okay, that was really neat," I admitted.

He smirked again, examining his own thoughtfully. He banished the privacy charm and called, "Barty."

I looked over to see Moody approaching. "Barty?" I wondered.

"Bartemius Crouch Jr," Voldemort responded absently. "He's been impersonating your defense teacher all year."

I nodded, "Well, that explains why he's the first defense teacher I've actually liked, I suppose."

Moody – Barty – grinned at me. "You've got impressive skill with the Unforgiveables, kid."

"Well, I _have_ been practicing for years," I said cheekily.

"Barty, return Harry to where you found him," Voldemort ordered, his tone still slightly distracted.

Lucius was kind enough to return my robes to the hospital gown, which was quite drafty, and then Barty used a portkey to bring us back to the infirmary. Blessedly, no one was there. I figured if I'd turned up missing, someone would be around looking for me. Well, that would necessitate someone actually caring enough to check on me during the night. Highly unlikely, really.

Barty grinned at me as I crawled back into the bed. "I have to say, kid, I didn't expect to be bringing you back alive."

"Neither did I," I admitted.

"It's good to have you on board," he offered his hand and I shook it firmly. "'Been practicing for years'," he was chuckling under his breath as he turned and left the infirmary.

* * *

**Year 5**

The summer after my fifth year was one of the best I'd ever had. Dumbledore, in his ultimate fucking wisdom, decided that the best thing for me would be to spend the summer in hiding after Voldemort's attempt on my life. Reading between the lines, I gathered that, now that Voldemort was back, Dumbledore wanted me – the liability – stashed safely away where I couldn't bring any harm to precious Ethan. Of course, smart man that Dumbledore was, he chose to send me into hiding with Snape and Moody as my guardians. Seriously. Yeah. _That _was his plan.

Making it a really lucky thing that I'd already signed on with ol' Voldie, or I'd have been in some trouble at their mercy all summer. According to my "guardians", Dumbledore had instructed them to basically keep me locked up all summer and far away from anything that might teach me any dark magic. The irony made my head spin. It really did. Of course, Moody and Snape instead followed the orders of their true master and spent the summer teaching me dark arts, dueling, and defense. Voldemort evidently wanted me well protected considering that neither of us could die while the other survived. There were a lot of ways to interpret that. I mean, it may have simply been that we wouldn't die of old age while the other was alive. Whatever, he clearly wasn't banking on it translating to invincibility, and I preferred not to either.

I was enjoying a lazy morning of sunbathing when a shadow abruptly obscured my light. I turned my head and squinted up at Severus with a frown.

"Meeting," he said succinctly.

I quickly rolled to my feet and drew my wand to summon my robes and mask from the house, then gave Severus a nod and apparated to Voldemort's manor. This would be my third time here, including my unwilling visit at the end of fourth year and the one meeting I'd previously attended, in which my equal – gods, I totally got off on that – had informed his inner circle of my defection to the "dark side". If you could really call it a defection. Really, it was more like just making official my alliance with Voldemort. Everyone had already assumed I was dark, so it didn't come as that great of a surprise to anyone.

What did come as a surprise was that I wasn't just another Death Eater. Voldemort didn't introduce me as his equal – or as anything other than an ally, actually – but actions spoke a whole lot louder than any words.

My mask was black and diagonally cut from just under my left eye to my right jaw – not that it really disguised my identity all that much considering that my brilliant green eyes were readily apparent. Still, if I ever went with them to do nefarious deeds in a public venue, I assumed a glamor over my eyes would rectify that little problem.

While Severus took his place within the circle surrounding Voldie's throne, I took my place to the right of the throne.

I recognized the likelihood that a lifetime of being in my brother's shadow had made me something of a glutton for positive attention, as I _really _enjoyed my special – if undefined – status among the Death Eaters. I suspected that Voldemort recognized that yearning in me and had chosen to treat me as he had among the others largely to indulge that trait. I didn't really care about his ulterior motives, since it was enjoyable for me.

"Welcome, my faithful," Voldemort started, typically melodramatic from what I'd seen. "What have you brought me tonight?"

And so, one by one, the inner circle Death Eaters stepped forward and gave reports on their progress regarding whatever task they'd been set.

For my part, I didn't realize that I'd started lounging against the side of Voldemort's throne until he shot me an amused glance. Since I didn't detect any real annoyance from him, I gave him a cheeky grin and remained as I was. More than one of the Death Eaters seemed a bit unnerved by the exchange and by the leniency I was given to act like a teenage idiot. I enjoyed that even more than the leniency itself.

Personally, I thought half the reason Voldemort put up with so much from me was because I truly did amuse him. Even with my short association with him, I'd gathered that he didn't generally have much amusement in his life apart from torturing and murdering those he didn't like for whatever reason, or his minions that had irritated him. So far, I had been lucky enough to have not irritated him to the point of receiving any kind of punishment. Honestly, I was a bit curious about how far he would let me push – and what kind of punishment he might use if I ever did sufficiently irritate him. Of course, I wasn't curious enough to deliberately test it. I was a Slytherin, after all. Self-preservation always won out in the end.

I returned to Hogwarts for my fifth year with a pair of simple tasks to complete. First, I was to retrieve a diadem from a hidden room on the seventh floor. Something that evidently belonged to Voldemort. The second task was to pack the majority of Slytherin's library into an enchanted chest and return it to Slytherin's rightful heir.

I got the diadem during the first week and stashed it down in Slytherin's library where it would be safe until I was ready to leave. Then I devoted myself strenuously to the task of memorizing as much of the library as possible before I was forced to take it to Voldemort. I wasn't looking forward to how bored I was going to be once those wonderful books were gone.

The Defense teacher for the year was some Ministry Hag who was gunning for me because I'd claimed that Voldemort was back and Fudge didn't want to deal with that. So I spent my Defense classes being as mild as humanly possible while I internally chanted a mantra of all the reasons why it would be ill-advised to Avada the bitch in the middle of class.

The most interesting thing about my fifth year at Hogwarts, however, was my new tattoo. Not only did the snake slither its way around my arm whenever it felt like it, but I could _feel _things from it. Emotions, specifically. Anger. Amusement. Curiosity. Disappointment. Excitement. Etc. There didn't seem to be any pattern to the emotions, and I was almost afraid to draw conclusions.

It wasn't until Christmas break that I figured it out. Dumbledore wanted me to spend the holiday at the cottage rather than the school. My parents never even considered letting me come home for Christmas, I gathered. Personally, I thought Dumbledore didn't want to have to worry about me at Hogwarts with minimal staff and student presence and three weeks of free time on my hands. I have no idea what he imagined I might get up to though.

Either way, it worked out well for me as I got to complete my tasks by delivering the trunk and diadem to Voldemort.

He looked over the diadem first, examining it with a small smile and almost reverently stroking his fingers over it.

That's when I finally figured out the meaning of the emotions coming through my tattoo. If they weren't Voldemort's emotions, then they seemed to be coinciding with them perfectly. Which was both very weird and very cool.

* * *

**VV**READ THIS! IT'S IMPORTANT!**VV**

**A/N:** Okay, first of all, for everyone who participated in my little game to further the plot of this story, I love you dearly. All votes for the pairing were taken into consideration. More than half of you should be pleased to hear that **Harry/Voldemort** won by a landslide. Many of the suggestions and ideas for the plot and other pairings have been woven together to create what I hope is a nice combination of cliche and original as the plot continues.

As the beginning note advised, I will not be continuing this version of the story but have instead decided to expand upon the first fifteen years of Harry's life. It will begin the summer before first year and hopefully explain how Harry has turned out with such a "charming" personality despite growing up with a family that loved him and that he loved in return. I will warn you, however, that the truly sarcastic part of Harry's personality didn't develop until after starting Hogwarts.

And finally, my sincere apologies for not continuing this story in a timely manner as I had originally hoped. I have several reasons, but the most prolific is simply that Real Life got in the way. There is also the fact that I wasn't (foolishly perhaps) expecting the vote to turn out HP/LV. If you browse my other works, you'll see that I've never posted a Harry/Voldie fic. I've toyed with a few that aren't posted, but none in quite a while. I took some time and gave some serious thought to how I wanted to go about building this relationship. With any luck, I think I've got that figured, but it may take a while for them to really get together - Harry as to grow up, for one.

I have no timeline for when I will begin, update, or complete the rewrite of this story. I won't tempt fate again by giving myself a deadline, but I do promise that I will work to give you as much as I can as often as I can without sacrificing the quality of the story.


	2. ANNOUNCEMENT - NOT A CHAPTER

Hi!

Okay, so I've just realized that I had promised to leave a note here when I started posting the rewrite. Sorry. On the bright side, I've already posted the first two chapters for you!

It's called, "My Brother, the Hero: Version 2-point-0h". Obviously, the format will be a bit different but the plot should remain the same and will be continued beyond the end of the original.

I do hope you enjoy.

-Falcon-


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